SYRIA by Ghayth Armanazi

SYRIA by Ghayth Armanazi

SUFFER THE COUNTRY   Suffer the curled up corpses of the tortured Suffer the cluttered ranks of the bound and the beaten Suffer the pleading eyes of those...

Exile by Manash Bhattacharjee

Exile “I rested my mouth on your memory” ~ Yannis Ritsos, from Diaries of Exile Night arrives like a cart You push it with motionless hands There is darkness But...

That Boy by Robert Nazarene

  He was patient as a dead bird. He perched on the ledge of bottom and rocked.  He was the missed flight. He was silence calmed down. He loved...

The London Magazine Poetry Prize 2018 – Winners Announced!

A huge thanks to everyone who entered this year's poetry prize! We had so many high quality entries this year which resulted in a...

The Veil by Manash Bhattacharjee

She walks past the wave Of curious glances An apparition eluding Light and desire Everything she hides from Trembles in her body She remembers the lures In every street But no street...

Archive | Poetry | Peter Bland

Peter Bland, the New Zealand writer and actor, has written extensively over his long career, and has been lauded with many accolades, among them...

Poetry | Trapeze by Layla Benitez-James

Layla Benitez-James Trapeze A rabbit might be taken away from a butcher by two different people and prepared separately; I mean, the structural integrity of my...

Towpath by Neil Burns

I The Lagan - a muddy silt river - Barrel of roll-tide, ribs of clean branches Poke up water jutting. On the towpath I glean a warm wet...

What You Call Your ‘Winter Mode’ by Patri Wright

On the wicker chair I wait for the duvet’s rise: you’re just a mound, breath, as I worry over why, again, you’ve overslept. Could it be early...

Poetry | Waking Under the Walnut Street Bridge by Mara Adamitz...

        let me persist but not divide        let me sit quietly with        the tiniest    ...

They Would Have All That by Mary Jean Chan

To sing the evening home, the lover prepares a pot of lentil stew – her phone lighting up to the news of love’s imminent arrival, imagining her lover’s...

His Bottom Lip by Rachel Long

Clitoral, like finding a small, hidden part of myself in someone else. Nerve-wet, fleshy - for a white guy, and stained between life-lines with red wine gone black. Only this...

Poetry | Hidden Time by Alan Zhukovski

They live inside the warmth of typing fingers, inside the ghostly glass of hidden years you wanted to implant inside this week. The doors and windows to...

Poetry | Letter to Bez by Chris McCabe

Bez, post-Victorian Boz, Viz incarnate / and Viceroy of the sinew, what is the name / for light that detracts from the stars? / Urban pollutants de-lux distant galaxies / as we walk after / parties through school fields, / via car parks, past vacant vats & waste lots [...]

Two Hundred Twenty a Kilo by Nabarun Bhattacharya, translated by Manash...

(Homage to Karl Marx) Nabarun Bhattacharya (23 June 1948 – 31 July 2014) On the floor of a slaughterhouse A butcher’s leg slips in the blood Crows go raucous...

Real Life by Suzannah Evans

The producers decided things were getting slow so I caught you with Arabella at the charity regatta, delivered a flute of strawberry champagne to your blazer, a...

Archive | Poetry | The Wiper by Louis MacNeice

First published in the May 1960 issue of The London Magazine (Volume 7, No. 5). Through purblind night the wiper Reaps a swathe of water

Pigeons by Kate Bingham

I It’s just the same old air a person breathes, roughly the same respiratory system, steady compared with ours, the same idea of hindrance (flesh the breath must...

The Grandfather by Manash Bhattacharjee

To Steven O’ Brien Grandfather Heaney dug deep Into his country’s soil Another man unlike him left home To burrow through an alien forest In search of enemies The alien...

Review | WITCH by Rebecca Tamás

In her latest collection, WITCH, Rebecca Tamás explores the triumphs and oppression, the strengths and weaknesses, the power and the fears that generations of...

Last Heron by Stella Davis

Last Heron As the last heron goes, rooks fall from the sky like old black rags to carpet the new-laid field. ____________________Six days now, six days and nights without rain...

Extract | Paradox by Incognito

Incognito Paradox i get lost in my head sometimes tangled and stuck in my thoughts. it took me years of trying to find ways to outsmart myself to realize...

2016 by James Stradner

The clouds have swum down from the sky and rolled onto their backs in the streets, begging for someone to rub their fluffy bellies A day...

Competence by Anna Kahn

There is nothing in this room for those who have not learned to sing without thinking, who don’t know where the music fits in their bodies, how to...

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